


The Capacity of Man

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Immortality, M/M, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ray Toro -a Normal destined to stay on Earth for the rest of his life- finds out that the government has sold him to an Other without so much as asking, he is highly unimpressed. He quickly changes to agreeable once he finds out that before he can be married, he must visit each other territory, and learn as much as he can from the Specials there. Surely eight weeks of real living is worth the end price, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Capacity of Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Space Big Bang. Art can be found [here](http://gala-apples.livejournal.com/310773.html)

Before

When Ray comes in from work Lou looks up from the newspaper. Ray’s barely even got the door closed before his brother starts talking. “There’s another assembly on Patriot Hill. At least five hundred people camping out for ‘as long as it takes’ to make travel between the worlds accessible. You goin’?”

The question is rhetorical, but Ray shakes his head anyway. He contemplates the items in the fridge, and weighs hunger for real food against exhaustion before standing on his toes and grabbing a box of cereal from the top of the fridge. There are usually no less than four varieties, and unlike Lou who has certain types for certain moods, Ray likes them all.

“I really don’t get it. Do they think they’re actually going to accomplish something?”

He shrugs at Lou. “It’s just how they are.”

“But it’s fuckin’ stupid. If we’re not good enough we’re not good enough, and no amount of waving signs and shitting in portapotties will change that.”

Ray pours milk into his bowl and sprinkles the cereal on top of it. It’s a petty distraction but it works, Lou starts ranting about how he does it wrong. Lou also doesn’t like the way he hangs toilet paper, or that he doesn’t turn the volume down on the television before he turns it off. When it comes down to it, after nineteen years Ray’s got dozens of ways to irritate his older brother into distraction if he doesn’t want to talk about something. And listening to yet more Inclusionist versus Separatist banter is something he can definitely pass on.

Ray doesn’t consider himself a Separatist. It’s hard to throw full support behind anything the government does. But he’s never been an Inclusionist either. He went on a march once, in high school, because some friends asked him to. But he didn’t _believe_ the way they did. Sean and the rest had quickly figured that out and left him for more activist pastures. In college, he just informed everyone straight up he didn’t want to talk about it. These days his coworkers know not to bother trying to argue with him, that he’s not going to say anything one way or the other. Sure he knows about the other species of humankind, but how can he have an opinion on if the eight variations should come back to Earth when he’s never met a single one of any kind?

Nor will Ray ever have the opportunity to, seeing as he’s poor, unimportant, and low leveled. His theory is that it’s a triangle of factors that conspire to allow you to leave Earth, or keep you stuck on it. Those that have only two of the three limitations have a slightly higher chance to get to go off world. You can be broke and low level but if you have a famous name it’s possible to be sent as ambassador. You can be unimportant and low level but if you have the proverbial sack of gold coins you can buy your way off the planet. Or you can be poor and completely unknown, but if you have a high enough level they’ll snatch you up. Having only one negative quality is better than two, of course. And Lou likes to say if you’re rich _and_ well known _and_ high level you’ve probably seen more worlds than the Others themselves.

Ray knows who he is. He’s a twenty year old guy that lives with his brother because living alone is too quiet. He’s a gay man that likes his own style too much to cater to what would probably get him a lot more bed partners. He’s heavily into music, enough that the opinions of some of the people that enter the media shop he works at make him want to smother himself on his own hair. And among a dozen, a hundred other things, he’s poor and unknown and low level. There’s not a chance he’s ever going to get off-world. Inclusionists are too whiny, Seperatists are too blindly loyal, and it’s his firm opinion that it would be great if everyone would just shut up. No one cares.

Until they do.

The day starts off the same as any other. Lou’s shift at the grocery store starts an hour before Ray’s at the music store, so by the time he forces himself out of bed there’s a cooling half a pot of coffee left in the kitchen. He doesn’t remember to grab a CD until he’s off the driveway. Unbuckling, parking, unlocking the shitty doorknob, and turning off the alarm just to get one is too much work so Ray just fiddles with the radio and tries to find something that isn’t weather, traffic reports, or easy listening. At work all the customers wander around with a handful of CDs and then put them down at random and walk out without buying anything. It’s completely normal behaviour, shopbacks are at least sixty percent of his job. The staff room fridge still smells like death, and cracking open a warm soda during his break is the better option.

Travelling home is normal too. It takes approximately fifteen minutes longer to drive home than it did to drive to work. If Ray had ever cared about math, that sort of phenomanon is probably something he could have written a thesis about. The inverse law of something with exponents. Or something. As it is, he doesn’t know anything about numbers, and doesn’t care enough to try and educate himself. So he settles for cursing the traffic and imagining the massive bowl of sugary flakes he’s going to eat when he finally gets inside.

That’s when things all go to hell. Lou’s sitting at the table like normal, but instead of peering over the top of his newspaper he tosses a letter at Ray, flicking his wrist like a frisbee. “I didn’t open it, but it looks pretty governmenty.”

That doesn’t sound good at _all_ to Ray. Unfortunately, not opening the chalky brown envelope won’t make it go away. He jams his thumb in the slight gap between the top crease and the glued down flap and rips sideways. Lou bitches that the knives are _right there_ -apparently envelope opening method is another unapproved of quirk- but when Ray pulls the twice folded paper out Lou shuts up and waits for an explanation.

“They want me to meet them to discuss something.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“Well fuck that!”

Ray’s inclined to agree.

The government, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care that he’s not interested in meeting with them. They don’t do anything insane like break into his house at midnight to drag him away. Ray’s sure they have that ability, but they don’t. Instead it’s just a repeated request for a meeting. Every morning there’s another grey-brown envelope in his mailbox waiting to be opened. After the second day Ray doesn’t bother to open it, just chucks it in the garbage. After a week Lou asks if he’s going to go. Ray shrugs. They’ve made it pretty obvious he can’t say no.

It takes a while to drive to the building listed. It isn’t really what Ray expected as far as the government goes. He was thinking a tall, mostly mirrored glass tower, beige carpets and white walls and doors that lock for the occasional torture and interrogation. The building is in the middle of a field. It’s two stories tall, but with no windows to indicate anyone is on the second floor. There’s not even a visitor’s parking lot, for all Ray knows he’s parking beside the person that’s about to use the thumbscrews on him. Not that he knows anything about anything, unless you count this week’s new rock releases.

He tries to open the door. It doesn’t open, but nobody jumps from around the corner with a gun in their hand, his head in their crosshairs, so that has to count for something. Ray waits a moment and knocks, then waits some more.

Eventually it opens to a man in a suit. It’s the best that Ray can come up with, even knowing how unimpressed Lou will be at the description. He can practically feel his eyes glaze over just looking at him. It’s not magic, and it’s unlikely he’s a Special, although Ray’s never met one so he can’t know for certain. He thinks though, that it’s just the way government agents are. A certain segment must be selected just for their ability to blend in to a crowd utterly. This guy could shoot Lou fourteen times, and all Ray’d be able to tell the cops is medium height, medium build, brownish hair.

“Mr Toro. We have been waiting.”

It could be a line from a horror movie, ghosts and rain on a full moon night around a haunted mansion. Except he doesn’t say it ominously. He just sounds pissed. Which, come to think of it, a civilian driving into the middle of nowhere to deal with angry government agents... It really is its own sort of horror movie.

The door crashes closed behind him, and it doesn’t surprise Ray at all when the agent steps around him to slide a metal bar into place, preventing it from opening again. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s in a tiny room no bigger than the kitchen table at home, one door is barred, the other is no doubt also locked, and an anonymous man is staring at him. He is going to-

“We have been informed that an Other has become interested in you.”

Wait. What? What the fuck? “What?”

His face twitches, only a moment of annoyance before smoothing out into blandness again. “We have-”

“No, I heard. I don’t _understand_.”

He chuckles, like there’s something funny. “Well, Others get pretty bored, so they watch us. This one has requested you. The government is not in the habit of denying the requests of the Others.”

“Uh.” It’s not eloquent, but it’s the best he’s got.

“This one has also requested you learn about the eight other planets in this system.”

Ray closes his eyes for a second, but when he opens them he’s still in a government building, still being glared at by an agent. Apparently he is not hallucinating. And if it’s not a dream, he needs to know more. “Why?”

“The Others are very smart. The knowledge you gain will be your dowry. Of sorts.”

“Dowry?”

“I suggest in the next eight weeks you focus on becoming a more intelligent conversationalist. Yes, a dowry. An Other is considering you as a companion. So-”

“Are they male or female? Or something else? Because I’m gay.”

“That is hardly my concern, Mr Toro. You’ll be set somewhere that speaks English, and there will be someone that will host you. Beyond that it’s your duty to experience and learn. We can only suggest you do it well.” He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be menacing, but there’s an undertone that Ray bets no officer knows how to turn off.

“So I’m being prostituted, then,” Ray replies, casual tone belaying the harsh words.

“Mr Toro, if you can honestly say you have no interest in leaving the planet, no interest in living with Specials, no interest in meeting an Other, then I will unlock the door. You can climb into your car, drive home to your brother, and peddle CDs to other utterly average persons for the rest of your life. What’s it to be?”

And as much as Ray dislikes the idea of essentially being sold to an alien, he’s got a point. “Lead the way.”

Beyond the second door is what he can only guess is an airplane hangar. He’s never actually _seen_ an airplane hangar, but it looks like the kind of room that would hold jets. There are a few people in lab coats, seemingly just milling around. The agent nods at each as he passes, Ray following in his wake. Ray’s taller than the agent, but he’s not looking above him, only at the back of his neck, so he doesn’t see it until the agent stops and moves to the side. It looks like a bathtub -a deep set whirlpool bathtub, not the shower bath combo kind- if bathtubs had a bunch of control panels, and wings.

“This is the ship you will be using.”

He really wasn’t expecting that. Surely there should be transport beams or something. Ray has never even been in a normal airplane, never mind a plane meant to leave the planet. “Uh, when is the first lesson?”

“Never.”

“You’re not going to give me piloting lessons?”

“Yes, because we want you to ruin the ship when you crash land and behead yourself by the sheer force of your spine snapping. Just shut up and listen, as the techs explain precisely how you’ll sit down and shut up for the ride.”

Ray always thought travelling to another planet would be amazing. He wasn’t one of the little boys that obsessed over spaceships, tinfoil curved over his rain boots and a blue helmet with red flames on the front on to protect him from the atmosphere. When he was a child his thing was dinosaurs. Nor is he one of the grown men secretly addicted to the Travel channel, gossiping about who went where, and wondering if they’ll ever come back. But he has thought about it, because how can you not?

In reality it’s only a delightful mix of boring and uncomfortable. After a brief explanation of the frankly disturbing sounding life preservation method, the techs spend at least an hour lecturing him not touching anything. Well, it’s all polysyllabic words and run-on sentences, but what it boils down to is _Don’t. Touch._

“Okay,” he says after the twentieth rephrasing, “but what if there’s an emergency? Shouldn’t I at least know what a few of the buttons mean, or do, or whatever?”

One tech shakes her head, tightly pulled ponytail bouncing with the movement. “The ship is quite capable. It would keep you alive for very much longer than it would take us to locate you.”

“Oh, because the government cares so much about rescuing a citizen.” Ray’s not quite sure how the belligerence slipped in. The second he’s done saying it he regrets it, and not just because the tech seems stricken.

The agent though doesn’t care at all. He only smirks. “No, because the craft is worth many civilian lives. I, and many others, don’t care if it keeps you alive until we retrieve it. Just consider it a happy side effect for you.”

How comforting.

Finally they seem to be finished. As a group they walk away without saying so much as a goodbye. Ray doesn’t have long to be relieved though, before the agent turns to him and demands “follow me.”

Ray does. He’s already compromised by entering the facility at all, and again by listening to the techs' lecture, at this point he might as well stay on the agent’s heels like the best dog in the city. Expecting physical training, or medical testing, or something like that, it’s a surprise when he’s led to a staff room. The room is about a hundred percent better than the staff room he was in six hours ago. There are actual couches instead of folding chairs, and a table that’s not discoloured from years of spills, and best of all a fridge that doesn’t stink.

The agent opens the door of said fridge and gestures at it. “If it’s not labelled you can eat it.”

Ray doesn’t ask him how he’s sure he doesn’t have deadly allergies. Either he knows because he knows too much about him, or he doesn’t know and doesn’t care if he goes into anaphylactic shock. Both answers are bad. Instead he just grabs a few slices from a half a pizza still inside a cardboard box. It doesn’t taste like it’s a week old, so hopefully it won’t make him sick. He’s had worse for dinner in the past, and if the Others end up being praying mantis people he’ll have worse in the future.

“Are you done? The sooner we get you packaged into the ship, the sooner I can leave.”

“Wait. The ship? Tonight?”

“Were you or were you not listening when I said an Other has requested you? Your ridiculousness has already caused a week long delay. We’re hardly waiting longer. You’re eating, and then you’re leaving.”

“Shouldn’t I go home and get stuff? Clothes or whatever?” Music has to be universal. Even if the electricity is different on different worlds, and his powerpack won’t hold out, he can still bring his acoustic.

“We’ve sent someone.”

Oh, _that’s_ going to go over just wonderfully with Lou. Ray almost wants to insist on going home just to spy in a window to see how it goes down. The agent though, he doesn’t look like he’ll be amenable to the idea.

The life support systems are even worse in practice than in theory. A tech doesn’t put a backpack of his things into what Ray’s going to consider the trunk of the ship until Ray’s stuck in the system, so he doesn’t have the chance to check what they’ve decided is important for him to have. He spares a minute to think of Lou, hoping his brother directed the choices a bit. If there's going to be cold weather he'd rather have a band merch hoodie than an itchy Christmas sweater.

“You’ll be staying on each planet a week. I suggest you not waste your time,” the agent says, looming down on him. Ray would roll his eyes if he wasn’t sure the guy would kick him in the face for it. He can practically hear Lou saying _you sure suggest a lot of things_. It’s probably a good thing he’s here instead of his brother. Lou would end up getting shot -he hasn’t seen a gun but he’s sure they have them- or he’d piss off the techs enough that they’d ‘forget’ to turn on a safety precaution, and a hatch would randomly open in space and his skull would explode in the vacuum.

At the end of the hangar the doors open, and the ship’s control panels begin to light up. Looks like it’s time to go.

 

Week One

Ray’s been off Earth for less than a day, and there’s already a problem. Not a control panel flashing red sort of problem, if something like that happened he’d probably be dead before he had the chance to worry about it. The real problem is less immediate, but with more long term concerns. He’s in the middle of space, but close enough that he can see his destination on the horizon. Unlike what the agent told him, it’s not a planet. Planets are round, and they orbit a sun, he might not be a cosmonaut, but he at least knows that. His ship is taking him ever closer to an oval, which means he’s going to be docking on another ship. It’s as big as North America, and the Specials on it might not even know they live on a ship, but there’s no question. So if the agent lied about where Ray’s going, what else has the man lied about? He can only hope the part about friendly, English speaking people was true.

There’s no docking procedure. His ship doesn’t attach itself to the bigger one in any way, and no kind of door system opens to accept him. It just starts to land. Logically speaking, landing involves the ship getting closer and closer to the land until it’s resting on it. Ray’s not an idiot, he knows that. Still, he can’t stop himself from screaming in terror as the ship nosedives and the ground comes barrelling towards him. Not that he can hear himself, the tube down his throat prevents any real noise.

The ship lands without shattering into a million pieces. If he could, Ray would bury his head in his knees and hyperventilate for a minute or five. It’s not an option for multiple reasons though. He’s strapped in at a dozen different places, thick leather straps that keep him from being able to bend over. The top of his seat is a helmet keeping his head in place. Last but not least, even if he wasn’t immobile the tube stuck down his throat prevents any breathing whatsoever, hyperventilation included.

He can see a cluster of people standing to the left of the ship. They look a little raggedy, the kind of guy you’d sit beside on the bus, or meet in line for a concert. They’re not the first people Ray would have pegged to own a house and be willing to share a room, but realistically it’s probably better to get a few young guys than a family of five to play host for him. Ray doesn’t have much experience with loving parents, he wouldn't know how to act. One is flitting around, but the other three seem to be waiting patiently for him to climb out of the ship. Unfortunately, Ray has no idea how to make that happen. How to get out of the ship wasn’t covered under the lecture of _don’t touch anything_ back on Earth. Unable to move or speak Ray has no way of letting them know he knows they’re there, or for that matter letting them know he’s unable to move or speak.

The straps disengage at the same time that the helmet lifts a few inches off his head. The tube doesn’t move. For a minute Ray thinks it’s going to be stuck forever, and a flurry of panic starts to work its way through him. Then the tube starts coming out and that’s far worse. It’s a snake lodged in his intestines, and he’s coughing it out, coil by coil. It’s _horrible_. He’d really rather just keep it in, if that’s how it’s going to feel coming out. He can cut it off at the root, to hell with the techs and their twelve hour speeches. The tube doesn’t seem to think that’s an option though. Even with his hand on it, trying to hold it firmly in place until he can find a cutting tool, it slides consistently out, like retracting the cord on a vacuum.

The last inch is the worst, the tube triggering his gag reflex as it drags against his tongue. Ray can’t help the spasm that ends with his dinner over his lap. Of course, that’s the moment that the wall of the ship seems to collapse in on itself, leaving Ray exposed to the Specials. Splattered in vomit, what a fucking excellent first impression.

His throat hurts like fuck. What he really needs is a cup of water. Or a gallon of it. But since that’s not a option -no cup holders in a space ship- he makes do with scraping his tongue over the roof of his mouth. After he swallows the little bit of saliva that the movement creates he’s able to croak “Hey.”

The one covered in tattoos answers. “Hey man. We can get you some spare jeans, but we obviously don’t got any on us-”

“Besides the ones _on_ us-” interrupts the shortest of the group, shaking his knees in a weird dance to draw attention to his jeans.

“So it’s gonna be a bit of a walk. Cool?”

The four start walking away without waiting so Ray climbs out and attempts to rush after them. Instead he promptly faceplants in the grass. Thanks to whatever system he didn’t understand the techs elaborating on, his legs aren’t totally numb and he probably doesn’t have a blood clot that will move up his veins and kill him. They are however cramped as hell, fully revealing the time Ray’s spent cooped up.

Ray spends a minute to shaking them out, trying to massage the areas that aren’t covered in puke. In the time it takes the group clearly realises he’s not following and turn around again. The blond grabs his arm and slings it around his shoulder. “You stink. But don’t worry about it. Puke is a weekly if not daily event with us.”

The blond is pulling him along steadily, and Ray would be lying if he said he didn’t feel more confident for it. Problem being, he’s clearly going in the blond’s direction, and he still has business at the ship. “Can someone figure out how to grab my bag from the ship?”

“I’ve got it!” Apparently the brunet has seen a ship before. That or his Special ability is to understand machines. It only takes him a second to fish it out. “Hey, you’ve got jeans in here. Wanna switch now?”

Ray glances around. He’s in the middle of a field, granted. But if these four guys can just show up, who’s to say others can’t? “I’ll wait.”

“Your fluids, man.”

The four talk a lot, half of it swears. By the time Ray can walk for himself he knows the blond helping him is Quinn, the short guy is Bert, the tattooed guy Jepha, and the one with mechanical skills Dan. Ray would like to talk back -as he first suspected, they’re his kind of guy- but his dry throat is unhappy with any amount of syllables he attempts. The area they’re walking through is incredibly hilly. It takes Ray a long time to figure out why, he doesn’t realise until they slip around the side of a hill and there’s a door. “You guys live underground?” His question is followed by a wheezing cough.

“You don’t?” is the Quinn’s answer.

From the inside it’s better. Beside the fact that there’s no windows, it would be impossible for anyone to guess. He opens his mouth to ask if it’s just this city, or if everyone lives like this, but what comes out is three words and another cough.

“Shit, dude. Have some fuckin’ water.” Jepha shoves his hand at Ray’s face instead of doing anything normal like showing him where the sink is. For a brief moment he wonders if Jepha is expecting him to pay for it -which would be bad, because he’s almost positive the agent neither gave him a stipend for the next eight weeks, nor made sure to grab his wallet from the bedroom- and then it happens. A solid stream of water drips from Jepha’s wrists.

“That's not sweat, right? Because I'm actually really thirsty.” He has no problem drinking from Jepha’s arm if it is water, especially considering he doesn’t see a faucet at the edge of the sink basin. He just needs to make sure.

In response Bert holds out his arm and soil tumbles from his wrist. Quinn reacts to that immediately, shoving him hard. Bert lets himself fall to the floor with a giggle. “Damn it, I told you not on the carpet. Asshole. You’re totally cleaning that shit up.”

“In case you were curious, it’s an elements thing. Fire and air work too. Which sounds boring, but is actually kinda important. There’s no air circulation down here, so the air quality would be bad as fuck if we couldn’t open the door and let the old shit blow out.”

Ray shrugs. Makes sense to him, as much as Special abilities can. Besides he’s got more important things to worry about. “Got a room I can change in?”

He changes in a bedroom. It’s got a dresser and a queen sized bed. Ray doesn’t know if that means two of them are together, or just that they all live luxuriously. It’s impossible to know if there are two or three or four bedrooms when you can’t explore, and you haven't seen the outside of the house to extrapolate space. He tosses the filthy jeans in the laundry basket on the floor and hopes it won’t make the room reek too badly. Normally he’d put them straight in the washing machine, but he doesn’t know where that room might be. He doesn’t even know if they’d have a washing machine. At home theirs jets gallons of water into a tub so it can be swirled around, but as far as he can tell they don’t have running water here. Which is going to make the need to shower really awkward. But he can deal with that later, or possibly just not shower at all.

By the time he’s clean and comfortable, the four are jammed together on the couch. Ray takes a seat on the love seat at a right angle to the couch, the closer of the two cushions. Dan holds out a glass of pink liquid. “No, we don’t have flavours. It’s an additive.” Ray takes a tentative swig. It’s almost cherry Koolaid. He gulps the rest of it in a matter of seconds, throat singing relief at him. When he’s done Dan pours him another glass of water, not bothering to get up for the additive. Ray doesn’t bitch, a drink is a drink.

“So, what do you do? You know, when you’re not visiting Specials?”

“Nothing? My life is pretty basic.” Ray shrugs. “Pretty boring, I guess.”

“Bullshit!”

“Uh, what?” Bert seems pretty certain he’s lying, which is confusing. Even if the agent did give his hosts information about their guest, there’s really nothing fascinating in his life.

“There’s always something to entertain you. You just need to pay attention to the world. Like for example, the joint that Quinn’s going to roll because he loves me is entertaining as fuck.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but follows the expression with rolling said joint. He sticks one end in his mouth and holds his wrist an inch or so away from the other end. Ray smiles watching the flame shoot out. It’s probably a better method than a lighter, at least Quinn’s flame is steady. Ray passes the first time it goes around but takes a hoot the second go through. It doesn’t taste quite like the pot he occasionally smoked at home, but it’s close enough that he’s fairly confident it will have the same effects.

Sure enough, about an hour later Ray finds his throat dry again from rambling. He doesn’t say anything, just shoves his cup against Bert’s arm until he gets the hint and fills it. “I just, I don’t get this ‘knowledge is my dowry’ thing. It’s an _Other_ , man. He-”

“She?”

“It?”

“Whatever. But it’s an _Other_. What can I possibly learn that will interest it?”

Jepha grins at him, using a flame to light the nubbies on his socks. "Well, it was you specifically, it didn’t ask for any Toro available. So it likes the shit you like. So learn what all us Specials have to say about things you like, and you’re set. What do you like?”

Ray’s too fucked up for anything but the truth. “Music and sex.”

“Perfect answer. I salute you.” Quinn salutes with the cup of flavoured water and spills all over himself.

“So just listen to everyone’s music and fuck all your hosts and you’re set.” Jepha finishes with the confidence that only a profoundly stoned man has.

“’Cept you can’t fuck Dan, he’s straight.” Bert giggles. “And passed out. Unconscious means no, Ray Toro.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Really, he sort of hopes Jepha’s the gay one. He’s hot. “Hey, can you guys make ice?”

“Only if we spray during a snowstorm. Why?”

“Uh. Shit. Forgot.”

“Write it on your hand. That way the next time you remember you know you wanted to talk about it.”

Ray grins. Makes sense to him.

 

Week Two

The second time Ray crashes down, it only looks like he’s crashed onto a field. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus and see the glints on the horizon are buildings. In the distance what appears to be an entire city is made of glass and plastic. Or maybe it’s some chemical that they don’t have on Earth, or something that one of the Specials can produce. He’s only confident in saying that it’s not ice. The sun -or whatever method the massive ship uses to appear like a sun- is high in the sky, surely a town of ice wouldn’t last a day under rays like that. Besides, ice is translucent, greyish in some spots, air bubbles making it uneven in others. What he can see looks clear and uniform.

It’s creepy though. For all the buildings he can see, clear walls letting him see far in any direction he chooses to look, there are no people. The tube pulls out and it’s no less uncomfortable than the first time. Ray wretches but thanks to Bert’s suggestion of not eating the night before, doesn’t have anything to throw up. The side of the ship falls and he moves more carefully this time, so he doesn’t eat grass again. Ray likes to think he’s the sort of person that learns his lessons the first time.

The agent promised someone was supposed to be waiting for him on each planet. The planet thing got taken out of the equation early on, and now apparently the first half of the promise is void too. There’s no one standing in the field. Couple that with there being no one in the city, and it’s looking like he’s screwed. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

Ray begins to build a plan of action. It’s short; work his legs back to normalcy, then walk to the glass city. If they’ve evacuated for some reason, there must be notices of where the citizens are supposed to be. If he’s lucky there will even be police -or whatever passes for police- that can help him out.

“Oh. So that’s what we look like.”

“Is someone there?” Ray questions, struggling to his feet. His legs aren’t quite ready yet, but he can’t see a lot from his current position.

“Yeah.”

Ray jumps as someone touches his back, then grabs at the ship so he doesn’t fall over. He looks behind him for the culprit. There’s no one there. “The hell?” It’s only when he turns all the way around to check again that he realises. That’s definitely an arm his shoulder knocked into, which means there was a person -a guy if he’s placing the voice right- Ray just can’t see him. “Holy shit! You’re invisible.”

“Yeah, and you’re all looming and in my face. I think we should just not talk about it.”

“Uh, okay?” It’s kind of a weird suggestion, considering how cool invisibility is, but he doesn’t want to piss off his host less than ten minutes into meeting.

He can hear the grass start to crunch as the guy walks away. Then he swears and the grass crunches more, and there’s a hand around his wrist. “Come on. Uh, do you have any shit, or can we go?”

Thanks to Dan spending at least half an hour teaching him how to open and close the back before he left, Ray can easily get out his bag. The walk to the guy’s house -Bob, he finally introduces himself as- is short. It takes until Bob’s unlocking the door for Ray to figure that probably all the houses in the city are full, he just can’t see them. And if Bob’s reaction was anything like the norm, Ray’s going to be a freakshow. He’s not sure if it makes it better or worse that he won’t be able to see them staring.

“You have a nice house, man.” Well, besides the fact that half the things are clear, and with a neighbouring house so close Ray’s going to have a problem the first time he needs to shower. But that’s hardly Bob’s fault.

“Yeah. Thanks. Most people do. We don’t leave our houses much, so it has to be a nice place to be.”

“A whole planet of agoraphobics?” He realises it a bit late that it’s probably not the best thing to say. At least not out loud.

“What’s that?” Oh thank God, Bob didn’t hear him. “No, seriously. Explain to the clueless Special.” Well shit.

“Uh. People that are, uh. Afraid of going outside. Are agoraphobic?” Hopefully it won’t piss Bob off too much to be labelled like that.

Bob doesn’t seem angry. He snorts and says “Don’t be stupid, I met your ship, didn’t I? It’s the way this world works. Being around others is exhausting and frustrating. If it’s easier to not, and possible to not, why leave?”

He’s not quite sure how to answer that. He can’t imagine not wanting to leave his house, but then he’s not a Special, and Bob doesn’t have an often irritating older brother to share space with. Not that there wouldn’t be room for a sibling here, or even a few. The house is huge, at least if his eyes are focusing right and not adding bits of the neighbours’ onto Bob’s. There are no doors separating rooms, which Ray understands. Doors are generally meant for privacy, a concept which crumbles under transparent walls.

With Bob’s permission Ray walks through the house even though he can see most of it from where he’s standing at the front door. The stairs to the second floor are nerve-wracking, and he firmly decides that if he’s supposed to be sleeping in one of the two bedrooms he’ll take the couch downstairs. He’s not normally scared of heights, but there’s something about looking down and seeing the grey floor eight feet below him that makes his stomach lurch. The tour ends in a room Ray might classify a study, if he knew the difference between a living room and a sitting room and a study. There’s an armchair, and a small bookshelf, and a computer. Most importantly, there is a full drum kit in the middle of the room.

He hears the footsteps before Bob mutters a greeting. He’s probably not used to having to introduce his presence. Ray says hey back, and hopes that Bob won’t hate him by the end of the week for the intrusion.

“Dude, do you play?” Ray thinks about it a second then shakes his head. “I guess that’s stupid, huh. You wouldn’t have them if you didn’t play.”

His tone sounds like a shrug, even though he can’t see it. “They could be an art sculpture. Meant to symbolise the futility of... something.”

Ray snorts. “Yeah, real art aficionado you are. I guess they could be a makeshift clothes hangers. Wait. Do you wear clothes?”

Now he sounds irritated. Possibly. It’s harder to tell without body language. “Why, are you scared touching some man’s skin will make you catch something?”

“No?” The hell kind of question is that?

“Look. It’ll be fine. Just be cool.”

Which answers exactly nothing, but for his own sanity Ray’s going to imagine Bob -and all the other neighbours for that matter- is wearing underwear and any clothes that touches his body automatically turn invisible too.

*

“Do you work?” It’s a fair question. He’s been here a day and Bob hasn’t left the house to do anything. Bert and Jepha and Quinn and Dan hardly left their house either, but they were in a band. Bob has drums, maybe he only leaves when he has a gig. Or maybe he’s a student who got willed a shit-ton of money, or education is free on this planet.

Bob takes it the wrong way though. “No. I’m a bum and I’m squatting in this house. The local government told me to bring an interstellar guest with me.”

Ray knows when to drop a line of conversation. So it ends up being a surprise a few hours later when Bob turns on his computer and angles it towards his drum set. Ray doesn’t recognise the program he pulls up, of course, but it looks like this world’s version of a webcam. A minute or so later another set of drums appears on the screen, these ones against an actual painted drywall wall.

“You’re late, Tobias.”

A child’s voice comes from the computer. “Almost late. I have one minute. It’s three fifty nine.”

It doesn’t take long to realise Bob is a drum tutor. Which seems weird, though he knows better than to say something. When Ray was learning to play guitar Lou was always in the room, correcting his hand placement every three seconds. But maybe the drums don’t need that. Tobias doesn’t seem to suffer for the loss anyway.

*

Bob scores him a guitar. Ray doesn’t ask for it, doesn’t even mention playing more than a few times. But the doorbell rings and Bob tells him to get it, and by the time he makes his way to the front of the house there’s a large box sitting on the landing.

“I figured we could jam?”

Ray grins. “I’d hug you if I knew where you were.”

Bob doesn’t answer, but a moment later there’s an arm slung around his back. Ray turns to where the origin of the arm and and hugs him back. With his eyes closed it’s impossible to tell that Bob’s not visible. He just feels like a guy hugging a guy.

 

Week Three

There are three people waiting for Ray when the wall of the ship collapses to let him out. He should feel happy he managed to not vomit on himself, but instead he’s got a flurry of random emotions. He feels curious, discomfited and concerned at the same time.

Before he has a chance to croak hi, one of the two men -the one with tattoo sleeves on both arms- rushes forward and asks “are you okay? You feel dead. Not that I spend a lot of time around dead people? But living people don’t feel like you do.”

“Leave him alone Pete. He’s not from here. He doesn’t have an emotional set.” Ray wants to protest to the guy with the sideburns that he does have emotions, but it’s possible the man is talking about something different, so he keeps his mouth shut. There will be time for explanations later.

“I’m Ashlee, that’s Patrick. And Pete, obviously. Come with us. If you’re okay to get up?” She holds out her hand, and even though Ray can’t imagine she’ll be able to take his weight he doesn’t refuse it. It would be rude. She barely staggers, more capable than she looks.

They’re the first people to take him towards a vehicle. It’s more than just a car though, it’s a recreational vehicle. Ray sighs as he climbs up the few stairs. He’s never been in an RV, but for some reason it just feels like home. Pete gives him a tour, which is more tossing open the two doors and letting him peer inside. It’s a small space, since it’s a house on wheels. On the other hand it has running water and walls, so it’s closer to what he’s experienced as a home than Jepha’s or Bob’s. Size doesn’t matter much anyway, it has everything people need. There’s a tiny bathroom with a toilet and a shower and tiny chunks of mirror grouted into the wall. The back half of the vehicle is a bedroom which is almost entirely bed, with nets dangling from the ceiling full of clothing. The living area is right behind the driver’s seat; a couch and a chair and three laptops.

“Movies, music and books are there, browse at will. We only have subscriptions to a few channels though.” Ray shrugs. He wouldn’t be able to understand any serial show anyway. “We’ve got to fuck off to work now, entertain yourself. Or sleep, or jerk off. Eat. Whatever.”

*

In the eight hours that the three are gone, Ray ends up checking all the boxes of Pete’s list. He didn’t dare try to get off at Bob’s. Even the most stealthy variation, jerking off under the sheets, was still fully visible as a bobbing hand under a blanket. It's his least favourite method, he tends to sweat when he's turned on and sticking to the sheets is a turn off. It’s nice to take a few minutes sprawled out on their couch and rid himself of his blue balls. In the space above the driver’s seat are a bunch of storage tubs, a few are labelled FOOD. Ray cracks one open and has a bowl of this world’s cereal. It’s surprisingly similar to the cereal sitting on top of the fridge at home. Both needs met, he’s able to stretch out on their couch and sleep. It’s comfortable, arm rest as soft as a pillow. It’s a good thing considering there’s not exactly any hidden compartments for a second bedroom.

When he wakes up and they’re still not back, Ray picks a laptop at random and starts looking through the files. It’s basically the same as a laptop at home, though the file extensions are different. Skipping through the texts and movies is sort of a cultural primer for the world. By the time they come back he knows their brand of Specialness is their emotional sets, or their ability to project all emotions. It seems a bit fantastical until Ray feels suddenly weary, with twinges of calm, and a minute later the three bound up the stairs. It’s clear he just moved into their range -something which is the primary plot trope for the things he skimmed and clicked through- and he can feel what they do.

There’s one thing he doesn’t get though. He waits until they’ve settled into their after work routines to ask. He doesn’t like it when Lou insists they go out to see some band, or tries to pitch an argument before he gets his after work meal. If Ashlee needs to piss and Patrick needs to climb into the driver’s seat and Pete needs to lean to turn the music player at the front to a electronica band, he’s not going to interrupt. Finally though Ashlee is sitting beside him and he gets his chance. “I don’t get it. You’re calm, they’re both happy. Why doesn’t it mix into serene?”

“Think about it Ray. Say your grandma died, okay? And you’re sad because you loved her but you’re grateful that she left you a ton of money in her will. That wouldn’t even out into melancholy, you’d feel sad and grateful at the same time. So if your brain can’t even mix your emotions, how is it supposed to understand and combine two or more people’s?”

That’s actually a good point. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, sometimes people know what they’re talking about.” She might sound sarcastic, but she doesn’t feel it. So Ray just smiles and continues to scroll through the book on the laptop.

*

It’s late. Ray doesn’t know how late, there’s no clock, no uncovered flat surface for one to be hung. He could turn on a laptop to check if he really cared, but he doesn’t, not enough. Ashlee is in bed, Pete is still driving, and Patrick is reading. Ray can’t sleep until Patrick gets off the couch, and he’s not tired anyway. He nudges Patrick, a quick burst of surprise before it fades to contentment. “What do you do? When you’re not driving?”

“Uh, work?”

“Yeah, but what else? And if you keep driving how do you get back to work the next morning?”

“We just work the next morning.”

“But how?” Unless this world has some very special physics, he can’t see how it’s possible.

Patrick both looks and feels perplexed. Which is a question in itself- evolutionally speaking, why still have body language when no one needs to look at someone to know how they feel? But he can ask that later. For now Ray just wants to understand this. “I don’t understand the question. Try an example, maybe?”

“So you work, right? And then Pete drives for the next nine hours. Do you just turn around and hurry and hope you make it?”

“No? We go to the next work?”

Ray wants to bash his head against the wall. It might knock the steins off the shelf above his head, but it would be worth it.

He’s already figured out he doesn’t project his emotions -just like he doesn’t spill elements from his wrists or turn invisible- but somehow Pete can tell he's aggravated. He yells from the front and bridges the gap of their misunderstanding. “The company is everywhere. You stop at the one you’re closest too. There’s no working every day. No quota. You just go in when you can.”

“What do you _do_?” Maybe he is a little tired and braindead, but he can’t think of a single profession back home that would allow that.

“Make fuel. How else would our home run?”

That was not the answer he expected. “What? How?”

Patrick shrugs, face a bit pink. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you. And even if you did you couldn’t use the method on Earth.”

He doesn’t have any dastardly plans to create a stable energy source on Earth. As far as he knows, there’s a good chance he’s not even going back to Earth. He's not sure why Patrick doesn't want to tell him. Still, Ray doesn’t press. After all, it’s not like the Other will care if he learns how to make gas. Even if his knowledge is his dowry, surely the Other already knows. They must know everything, to be even better than Specials.

*

Ashlee is radiating happiness, Patrick is sending calm. Ray wants to curl up in a ball and scream until he can’t breathe. The idea of talking hurts, _everything_ hurts. But there has to be a secret he doesn’t know, something he hasn’t picked up in watching their movies and reading their books. The words crawl their way out of his throat. “How can you stand this?”

Pete overhears him, of course. The bedroom is only feet away and the door is closed but flimsy. Ray could hear them fucking as much as he could feel it last night. Pete hears his question and there’s a momentary wave of regret and apology before the self loathing comes back all the stronger. Ray’s got strands of curly hair weaved through his fingers. He doesn’t remember pulling on his hair, but the proof is tangled right in front of him.

His eyes are open. He doesn’t remember the last time he blinked, has to have been ages ago, before Pete started to melt down. They burn, but he doesn’t want to close them. There’s distinct fear that if he does, the darkness will get him. So he sees Patrick walk up to him, hand upraised. He doesn’t flinch, Pete’s all emcompassing feeling making it obvious to him that he’d deserve any blow he got. But Patrick doesn’t hit him, just yells. “Shut the fuck up!”

The rage is nothing, just a spark floating from a campfire while Pete’s misery is the blue flame at the bottom that turns the logs to white ash. Ray barely registers when it leaves. Ashlee’s mood doesn’t waver.

“I’m not trying to hurt him more. I don’t know if I could.” He laughs, because it’s so not funny he has to. “I just don’t understand. How can you not get crushed?” Before today, he never would have said that emotions have a weight, would have waved it off as waxing poetic. Just another form of literary device. But this is crushing him, literally making him want to curl into a ball so there’s less area for it to press on him.

Ashlee speaks. “You have to remember you’re not him. You can’t let someone’s feelings trample yours, or you lose yourself. And you can’t let someone’s feelings become more important than yours, or you get scared to be yourself. If we let Pete drag us down, our relationship would die. And if we stopped fighting just so he wouldn’t feel this way it would still die. We love him, but we’re not him.”

At least there’s a reason for it. As overwhelming and disturbing and awful as it is, at least Pete hates himself for a reason. If that can be fixed then this nightmare can stop. “What’s the fight about?”

Ashlee smiles, a wave of resignation the first sign that this is affecting her too. “Me and Patrick want to have a baby. He thinks the baby will be just as crazy as he is if he helps produce it. And he is not so secretly jealous if the two of us so much as jerk each other off without him, so producing one without him would be a nightmare, not that we’d want to anyway. But even if I managed to conceive without fucking either of them, Pete still thinks his strong set would overwhelm a baby. So he says ‘I’ll leave so you and Patrick can have a nice family’, but he means ‘please don’t leave me I love you I’ll try to be less crazy’.”

Patrick sums it up with “we’re in love with a spaz.”

Ray knows it’s true. Underneath everything else, he can feel the love.

 

Week Four

“We’re running a little late. Just hold on.”

Ray startles, the slight movement making the sandy dirt under him shift. There isn’t anyone around to have said that, at least not that he can see. He’s less dismayed this time by the lack though. Bob worked out fine.

Waiting a few minutes ends with two people on the horizon rushing towards him. So, _not_ invisibility. “Hi!” It takes Ray a second to realise the man isn’t shouting, he’s inside his head. So at least he’s figured out what these Specials do without having to ask stupid questions like last week.

 **I’m Gerard,** the shorter one waves his arm to designate **this is my brother Mikey. We’ve never met someone from Earth before. You’re really not what we were expecting but it’s nice to meet you. And nice to see you’re not deformed or grotesque or-**

Mikey kicks Gerard, not even trying to be subtle about it. Which, honestly, Ray appreciates. He’s not sure how long Gerard can have a inner monologue about how ugly he’s supposed to be but he gets the impression it’s a long time.

 **We came from work and we have to go back now, but you’re welcome to join us. In fact you kind of have to. Our house is pretty far from work and you don’t have a way to get there without us. But it’ll be fun, I promise. When we’re not selling we play with the merch. How was your flight? Do they call it a flight or would it be more a voyage? I-**

Ray isn’t going to kick Gerard, but if he can make the man’s thoughts focus for a second it would be great. “I don’t really call it anything. Too relieved at how I didn’t die, or confused about not knowing why I’m not dead to think up synonyms.”

 **Nervous flier? That’s okay, a lot of people are.**

“I thought you said you never met anyone from Earth?” He didn’t think telepaths would be able to lie, but it’s only been a few minutes and Gerard’s already twisting his thoughts.

 **Well, not face to face, although I’m sure you can imagine information travels quickly. We don’t quite have race memory, we’re not born knowing everything. But if you have a question, someone you know knows someone that knows the answer. But I just meant our customers. We’re almost there, then we’ll show you.**

Gerard stops thinking at him, but his brain immediately fills with lyrics and those leak all over Ray too. It seems more intimate than just talking, like maybe Gerard doesn’t want to hear him doing this. He starts humming some of his own favourite songs in retaliation, just so he doesn’t have to own Gerard’s thoughts. It only works so long though; as they begin to enter the town proper there are more and more people, with more and more thoughts.

To center himself, to remember who he is and who he’s not, Ray starts another conversation. “It’s just kinda weird. I just came from another projecting world, they all lived in motor homes and drove so they wouldn’t have to deal with large groups. But this looks like a normal town, and there are apartments everywhere. So you just ignore people’s thoughts and just go about your day?”

Mikey shrugs. Ray wonders if there’s something wrong with him, if he was a Special born somehow unspecial.

Gerard of course has an opinion on it. From the brief time he’s had it’s become increasingly obvious Gerard has opinions on everything. **I guess maybe our stuff is easy to ignore? If someone’s talking and they never stop, at some point it becomes white noise and you don’t hear any of it. Was the group before us easy to ignore?**

Ray only needs to think of Pete’s apparently frequent breakdowns, Patrick’s undertone of anger, Ashlee’s relentless happiness. “No, they weren’t.”

 **Well there you go then.**

*

Their work ends up being a family owned space ship company. Except they’re not meant to leave the ‘planet’, so they’re really just flying cars. Gerard explains that the desert erodes the tires of a normal car something fierce, and people just get more mileage when flying high enough that it doesn’t start a dust storm. It makes sense to Ray for as much as he pays attention. Gerard’s right, the constant drone does become a bit more background than he’d thought possible.

He waits until Mikey’s across the lot washing the windows of a few of the parked models to ask. He wants to know, but he doesn’t want to make Mikey feel bad. “You have a second?”

 **I have all the seconds. For the next week you’re supposed to ask everything you can think of, and we’re supposed to let you know all the answers.**

He sounds so damn nice that Ray can’t help but wish he didn’t have to ask. But he does. Mikey is his type, but he’s never taken advantage of anyone before, and he doesn’t plan on starting now. “Gerard, don’t get mad at me, but I really have to know. Is Mikey slow?” It takes him a second to think of an unoffensive term, a vocabulary lack he’s not proud of. “Like, mentally handicapped?”

 **What? No! What the fucking shit? How can you think-**

“I’m sorry!” He shouts over Gerard’s nonstop rant. “But he doesn’t think!”

 **He doesn’t let people know he’s thinking. Very few people have that ability. He’s special, specialler than any of the Specials here.**

*

Ray follows them to work on the second day too. For all that Gerard never stops his inner monologue -and to be fair, Ray’s pretty sure his own brain doesn’t stop, he just has the luck to not be in other people’s faces about it- he’s still a great guy. Hanging out with the Ways will be a lot better than hearing the neighbour on the floor above thinking rude thoughts about the manuscript he’s editing.

Mikey’s working in silence, of course, but when it becomes obvious Ray is just going to sit in one of the unused ships and hang out Gerard starts to explain the model he’s working on. **It’s an extremely stripped down version of the ride you came in. I’ve got all the specs for it, because you have to be able to rattle this stuff out on command. It’s not the best ship but it’s. You probably don’t care, I’ll try to not think about it. _Come to the occidental, the carpets are bloody but the beds are clean_**.

“Oh, you know that’s not fair. As soon as we get back to the house you’re playing that on the stereo.” Ray doesn’t have a problem with the lyrics Gerard uses to distract himself, would do the same if he was in the situation. What he’s against is only getting to hear half a song in Gerard’s perfect pitch mindvoice. He says it out loud because it’s not fair he can hear all their thoughts and opinions and they can’t hear him. “Gerard you should really start a band.”

To Ray’s great surprise, Mikey answers. **It’s not like we haven’t thought about it, but we just never found the right guys.**

Gerard adds **Or girls. Girls like rock too Mikeyway.**

*

It’s Mikey that interrupts later. **It’s officially time to play. Let’s go.** Without another word he leaves the back mechanical part of the shop and enters the parking field. Gerard follows without question, and it’s Ray that brings up the back of the pack. When they both climb into a ship, Ray hesitates. But there’s no helmet, and no breathing cord, so if not fun, it at least won’t be horrible. He picks a ship at random and climbs in.

As it turns out, it’s fun to go flying while in control. The Ways spend the whole customerless afternoon teaching him different flying games. Bumper cars seems to be Mikey’s favourite, not hard enough to dent or scratch the paint, but good for a big thud. Gerard likes plain racing, the ship he picked out catering to his interest. When Mikey shows him tapball Ray’s found the real winner. It’s like hackysack, basically, but with a giant ball and using the ship to keep it up. If Ray’s mentally flipping off the techs and their seriousness the entire time, no one has to know.

*

Ray’s college roommate freshman year had a thing for being admired. That had stretched into the bedroom and it took more than a few conversations for Chris to understand Ray wasn’t impressed with how hard he fucked girls the next bed over. He’s getting almost the same soundtrack now, except this one has a lot less _baby’s_ and a lot more _I love you’s_. It would be romantic if it wasn’t illegal. Somehow it’s still sexy. He wishes it wasn’t.

Eventually he gathers the nerve to yell across the hall. “I can hear you!” Hopefully he’s embarrassed them into stopping.

Instead he’s answered by Mikey, who seems distinctly irritated for the interruption. **Go for a fucking walk then.**

Before he really knows what he’s doing Ray’s out of bed and pushing their bedroom door open. “What are you _doing_?”

Mikey grumps **well we were having sex.**

“You’re brothers!” Christ, he could never even _think_ about having sex with Lou. He wouldn’t even want to see him naked.

 **Oh really. We hadn’t known.**

Gerard is the apologetic to Mikey’s sniping. **Ray it’s hard, okay? A lot of people are uncomfortable about it. But when you hear everything someone thinks it’s a lot harder to suppress or deny. Mikey could turn it off. I couldn’t. So we found people that weren’t scared of what they heard.**

Ray’s got nothing to say to that. He turns and leaves. He closes the door behind him, for all the good it’ll do. They keep fucking, out of spite. He rolls over, trying to sleep, an impossible task when they won’t stop thinking at each other. He finds himself rutting against the mattress, sheet sticking to his back. He doesn’t stop.

*

He approaches Gerard in the morning. He thinks Gerard will be easier for this than Mikey. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”

 **And kinda weirded out.** He shakes his head at Ray’s expression. **No, you’re not thinking out loud. It’s just how most people feel. It’s the default emotion, actually.**

“Right. Can’t say I wasn’t. But I _am_ sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m just another person judging you. The idea freaked me out because I could never imagine me and my brother doing it. But maybe if we knew each other as well as you two did we would be attracted. I don’t know. I _can’t_ know. So, I’m sorry.”

 **Like I said, you’re hardly the first to be grossed out. Just, we’ve got another four days together. Try to be quiet about it until then, okay? Not for me, for Mikes. He gave up a lot to have me.**

Ray can’t help but wonder if this was one of the lessons he was supposed to learn in preparation for his Other. He nods his head and deftly changes the subject to butter vs jam on toast. Gerard smiles and starts thinking about jam.

 

Week Five

After such a loud time with Mikey and Gerard, it’s nice to be somewhere quiet. Travis seems to understand when Ray asks for a night alone. Or at least he doesn’t complain verbally, telepathically, or emotionally. At this point Ray’s taking what he can get.

He needs a chance to regain equilibrium. If everything can just be quiet for a day or two then he’ll be freshly capable of seeking out some profound truths, something shiny and pretty to impress his Other with. Or maybe he’ll be found lacking and he’ll be sent back to Earth to live out a mundane existence. With his brain the way it is now either option is endlessly arguable, and Ray’d really rather not think about it instead of rehashing the same thoughts. Ray knows he doesn’t qualify for Special status, on Earth he always tested as low level, even if he didn’t understand what they were really testing. But still, it almost feels like Mikey and Gerard woke up something in his brain. He might not hear others, and others might not hear him, but he can hear himself. The entire ship ride his brain was nattering, somehow incapable of zoning out.

It’s a nice guest room. The house isn’t quite Bob’s size, but sure as fuck is better than his and Lou’s. There’s a tv on the dark dresser, a shelf mounted to the wall with a handful of books, and there’s a thermostat beside the light switch so he can change the temperature if the room if he wants to. Most importantly the bed is soft, so he’s entirely comfortable when he flops back and decides he’s not gonna get up until his mind is back to normal.

The silence is difficult, too much in some ways, not enough in others. At about three am -at least that’s what the clock says, Ray’s sure his watch would be a hundred time zones off- he can’t take it anymore. He needs to wake up Travis so they can talk, so it’s not just him vs himself.

As it turns out he’s already awake. The lights are on behind a closed door at the end of the hall. Ray thinks about knocking but walks in instead. Knocking gives the opportunity to be told to go away, and he really needs to talk right now. Better to apologise later than be refused now. A quick glance shows the room is a studio, and Travis is at the computer recording himself. It’s the strangest thing; Travis is singing but he’s nearly inaudible. It’s not whispering, his voice doesn’t sound altered. It’s just quiet.

“Look, normally I don’t ask. I don’t like being the stupid gawking Earth boy, and normally it’s pretty obvious anyway so I don’t have to. But do you, and by you I mean the entire planet, have volume abilities?”

Travis presses some combination of buttons, probably pause or save, then turns his chair to face him. “Uh, yeah? Anything with sound, really. Like I wanted to take you to this great high frequency electronica tonight but you didn’t seem up for it.”

Ray shrugs. “We could go somewhere tomorrow?”

“Cool.”

*

“I don’t think I can go in there.” In theory a concert sounds like a great bonding opportunity. In practice they’re in the parking lot and the side mirror is vibrating with the force of the decibels.

Travis scowls. “You said you were down for funk.”

“It’s not that, the genre is fine. But I think it’ll kill me to go in there.”

If anything his scowl gets deeper. “I promise you no black fan is going to beat on you. And frankly, the insinuation is-”

Ray holds both his hands up, palms out to stop Travis. “Wasn’t going there. Not a thought in my mind. I meant literally. It might kill me to enter the building. Or at least make me deaf.”

“What’s that?”

“Seriously?”

“Ray, you’re the one that’s trying to convince me of something. Mocking when asked for clarification is a bad strategy.”

“I wasn’t. I-” It’s probably useless. “I guess deaf doesn’t happen on this planet. It’s when you lose the ability to hear.”

Travis looks poleaxed. “Completely?”

“Yeah.”

“This happens to people from other planets? Really?”

“Yeah. In a bunch of different ways, but one of the ways is our eardrums can be damaged if something’s too loud. And Travis, that band is making the parking lot quake. I can’t go in.”

“Can you listen to quiet?”

“What?”

“You can’t listen to loud, can you listen to quiet?”

Ray wants to protest he can listen to loud, but it’s been made abundantly clear the definition is different between him and Travis. “Yeah.”

“Fuck this concert then. We can go listen to something else. Just gimme three minutes to scalp these tickets.”

“Don’t go over face value,” Ray instructs as Travis opens the car door. He hates that shit.

“Again, your implications sucks. I’m neither a douche nor an asshole.”

 

Week Six

Ray’s not sure how the agent planned out his interstellar travel, but he suspects it has nothing to do with voyage distance and everything to do with personalities. Maybe not the first few, Quinn and Bob don’t really match. But Ashlee, Pete and Patrick segued perfectly into Mikey and Gerard, and going from them to Travis was a good choice too. Ray doesn’t know what this person is going to be like, if he or she is opposing or parallel to Travis. But it has to be personality based because this has been by far the longest time he’s spent in the ship. You wouldn’t roadtrip from California to Washington to Oregon, unless there was a reason you had to meet the businessman before the liberal.

It’s not fair to say he can’t tell if the person waiting for him is a girl or a boy. He’s clearly a man, even if he has pretty feminine clothing on, and Ray tries to not do the gender stereotypes thing. And even if he had before, a week of Gerard would have cured him of it. But he’s certainly nothing like Travis with his hoodies and simple ease with himself, so Ray can only assume this will be a week of contradictions.

They get all the way through a half hour drive, parked and waiting for the elevator before he introduces himself. Ray’s not sure if he just forgot, he’s not pleased with the burliness of his guest, or introductions aren’t important in this culture. His name is Ryan.

The guy sitting and singing to himself in the corner of the room is different. As soon as the door opens he waves and interrupts himself to shout “Hey Ryan! Cute boyfriend. I’m Brendon, his bisexual lifemate. Well, one of them. There are more. A legion, even. You’re out of cheddar cheese, I made a bunch of grilled cheese for lunch. There are a few left in the fridge if you want.”

Ryan only scowls at him. Ray just moves towards the couch. He’s not going to frantically deny being interested in Ryan, even though he isn’t. He’s a bit high maintenance to be Ray’s type. He’s far more interested in sitting down. Unfortunately he somehow crashes through the couch.

“Yeah, that’s a hologram,” Ryan comments, slowly unwinding the scarf from his neck. It’s only after Ray stands up, tries to sit on the armchair and crashes through that Ryan adds “oh, that too.”

It’s either technology or their ability, but Ray’s pretty confident in thinking it’s their Special skill. “I respect your right to imagine whatever you want, but can we have a quick run through so I can see what furniture is safe?”

Ryan shrugs and Brendon snorts. “Come on, be nice to the new guy.”

Ray tosses a grateful smile to Brendon, as that seems to be enough to change Ryan’s mind. The kitchen has all it’s appliances but no table or chairs. In the living room one of the two armchairs is solid, and one of the many bookcases lining the wall. Both bedrooms are a pile of pillows and blankets, no mattress. The bathroom seems fully intact, thankfully.

*

It’s mid-evening when there’s a knock at the door. Ryan doesn’t get up to get it, and a moment later it opens. Brendon bolts to his feet and says “Spence! This is Ray. He is not a caveman.”

It’s quite possibly the best introduction yet. Ryan’s snickering while rolling his eyes, and Ray can only laugh. Spencer just smiles, which maybe means that he’s more serious, and maybe that means he can ask a question that he can’t ask spazzy Brendon, or Ryan for fear of insulting him.

“Are all places like this? Half holograph, half real items?”

Spencer shrugs. “Depends on how much money you have. Ryan can only afford an armchair and a coffee maker. So’s it better to have an empty apartment, or a full one? Besides, it’s impressive to some people to have an entire room of holographs. Takes mental energy to keep them up. You’ll notice that some of them will flicker when he falls asleep, the ones that aren’t as vital.”

“Meaning his three hundred and thirty seven scarves will still be in his closet, but he won’t have any chairs.” Brendon smirks.

“Shut up, fucker.”

Spencer shrugs again. “Dunno Ryan, he pretty much got you dead on.”

“Fuck yeah!” Brendon raises his hand for a high five and Ray goes to meet him. His hand goes straight through.

Ray reaches out to make sure, his finger extended to poke Brendon in the chest. His finger goes straight through Brendon, and his wrist and arm when he continues. Brendon doesn’t react in any way to having an arm inside his ribcage. Ray looks at Ryan and Spencer next. Neither say anything. He thinks for a second then decides not to say anything either. When his aunt had a stillborn baby she carried around a doll for therapy for a bit. If this is something Spencer and Ryan need to cope with their friend’s death, it’s not really his place to judge.

*

He doesn't meant to spy on Ryan. He just gets up to go to the bathroom, and Ryan's bedroom door is open. Ryan's sleeping on his stomach, head facing the wall opposite Ray. Spencer's beside him. Ray's not shocked, he'd have to be stupid to not have noticed that Spencer didn't go home. But it's more than just friends sharing a bed. They're too close, and Ray can see Spencer's bare shoulders.

He doesn't close the door to give them their privacy. If he did they'd know when they woke up that he'd seen. He just pisses, washes his hands, and looks in the other direction when he walks back down the hallway. He can't help but wonder if Brendon knew about them when he was still alive, or if it happened after Brendon's death.

*

Ray doesn’t figure it out until all three escort him back to the ship on the seventh day. He grins at Brendon -real or not he’s still hilarious- shakes hands with Ryan because he doesn’t seem like the kind that wants a hug, and goes to shake with Spencer. His hand goes through Spencer’s.

“What happened?” He doesn’t ask _and why did they send me to be with a crazy person_ , doesn’t even think it for more than a moment. Thanks to the Ways he knows thoughts can hurt too.

Ryan gestures limply from Brendon to Spencer. “We. We had a fight. I missed them.”

Ray can’t quite control the way his eyebrows shoot up, or the way his arms cross, though he tries to stop both as soon as he can. “Dude, if you miss them enough that you’re dreaming them twenty hours a day, you need to contact them again.”

“Can’t. We all made our choices. Try to make better ones, Ray.” And he turns and walks away, Spencer’s image of a hand brushing against his left, Brendon’s on his right.

 

Week Seven

The man in front of him is tiny, and energetic as fuck. Kind of the complete opposite of Ryan, which will probably be a huge relief. “So you might be saying to yourself, how did I get so lucky as to stay with Frank motherfuckin Iero? Well, I’ll tell you straight, Ray. You’re staying with me because I have a large amount of furniture you can use. I’ve always liked right angles.”

It’s cryptic, but not poetic. Definitely not Ryan.

“The rules of the household are few. The lemon poppyseed bread is Jamia’s, and Jamia’s only. Once a show has been chosen, the channel isn’t switched unless it’s mutually agreed, or there is a barter. And no jerking off in the shower!”

“Uh, okay?” He managed a week at Bob’s, he can do it again.

“Sorry, just me being crabby. The warmth gets me all interested, but if I try anything I keel over. Last time it happened I had to get stitches. Half the time by the time I’m horizontal I’m not even hard anymore. So I operate on the ‘if I can’t you can’t either’ principle.”

*

Around six there’s a knock at the door. Frank waves his hand but doesn’t turn his head from the cooking show he’s watching. Ray assumes that means ‘get the door but get it quietly so I don’t miss any witty banter’. Ray does just that.

The knocker is a woman, black haired and tiny, though not as tiny as Frank. She passes on the hello, instead opting for “do all people on Earth have hair like yours? Because that would be awesome.”

Ray shakes his head, maybe a bit theatrically. She giggles as his hair bounces. He invites her in. If he’s not supposed to, well, Frank should have answered his own damn door then.

She bounces a little bit as she walks, it takes him a moment to place why. Her knees bend in the opposite direction. Ray suddenly understands what Frank meant by the furniture comment. The couch cannot possibly be a relaxing way to sit. Thankfully, before Ray has to start thinking of a solution for her she solves the problem herself. She grabs a pillow and sits on it on the floor rather than the couch. Then she twists more than Ray could have, until she’s almost facing Frank. She pokes him, hard. “You made Earthboy get your door, you lazy asshole?”

“Not lazy. Busy. Cheftastic was on. Is on. So shut up until it’s over.” She pokes him again, but doesn’t say anything or seem upset so Ray figures it’s fine.

*

“Come on a date with me. Me and Jamia double date every Saturday.”

“Uh?”

“You’ve met Jamia, my hot hot fiancee right?”

“Yeah?” Of course he’s met her, she’s hung out at Frank’s every night he’s been here. That’s not the problem.

“Every Saturday for the last, I dunno, like four years we’ve gone on a double date.”

“You realise I don’t know anyone to bring, right?” He hasn’t exactly been a social butterfly this world. Not like Travis’ concerts, or Jepha and co’s crashing other people’s huts at random.

“No stupid, you’re my date.”

“I don’t understand?”

“I bring someone, she brings someone. Everyone enjoys each others company. Usually she has sex with her date, I have sex with mine, they go home in the morning, we meet for brunch.”

“So you cheat constantly on your fiancee?” For the first time the agent has made a bad placement. Ray can understand a drunk mistake once. But every weekend? That’s just shitty.

Frank doesn’t seem impressed by the question. He frowns, arms crossed. “How is it cheating if we both know, we both want the other to, and we’re both ridiculously in love? Don’t be an idiot. It’s our thing, and it’s cool, and it’ll happen on Saturday whether or not it’s you. But I want to date you. Come on man, how often do you get to have sex with a Special? How often do I get to have sex with someone from Earth? Don’t make me ask the cashier the next time I go for groceries. He looks like he’d be into kinky shit. Don’t make me get peed on, Ray.”

“Oh for fucksakes. Fine.” Jamia seems like the kind of person that would let him know if something wasn’t okay.

*

It seems like the perfect opportunity. He hasn’t had sex in a month and a half, and although that’s by far not the longest it’s ever been, now seems like a good time. Frank looks hot as hell, hair combed so it’ll drip-dry into position. Ray wants. He steps in to trap Frank between his body and the wall. It’ll leave an imprint on the wallpaper probably, but Ray doesn’t care.

“I told you dude, only on Saturday. That’s the rules.”

Frank’s smiling, but he determinedly ducks under Ray’s arm and steps away, dick still hard under his towel. With nothing else to do Ray enters the steamy bathroom for his own shower. Fuck Frank’s house rules, he needs to get off before his balls explode.

*

“It’s roller derby. I’m pretty sure you have it on Earth but ours is more interesting because we move better. Obviously. Moving is sort of our thing.” Jamia smirks.

Ray never watched roller derby at home, so he doesn’t know how it compares, but it is interesting now. Jamia spends a few moments explaining terms, the difference between major and minor penalties, what blockers are and aren't allowed to do. It's almost enough to distract from the awkwardness that is three guys and a girl at a table meant for a couple. But that dissipates quickly, the first time Jamia twists so he can kiss her date. It’s visual confirmation that it’s okay, that Frank wasn’t bullshitting. So he drops his hand under the table and curls it around Frank’s thigh. It might not be morally right, but it's okay between them and that's what matters to Ray.

Ray figures they're at least going to manage waiting until they get back to Frank's apartment. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, it's truly just because their table has gone through a few pitchers of beer - or similar beverage, they call it keth. For all the drinking, Ray's not super drunk, the alcohol content must be low. Even when Frank stands beside him at the urinal -thankfully a universal design- Ray just figures he's drunk a lot too. Then, as Ray's washing his hnds, Frank stands behind him and ruts against the back of Ray's thigh.

"Now? really?" Frank wants to have sex in a public washroom but he wouldn't do it in his own hallway?

"It's Saturday, isn't it?"

To Frank, that probably makes perfect sense. Ray decides to take Jepha's advice and just go with it and fuck his host. He turns and bends down so he can kiss him. A gentleman kisses before having sex in a mildly filthy bathroom.

 

Week Eight

 

Ray’s not sure he can get used to the way people here just know everything. He knows it’s a Special ability, and it’s not like the other people he’s met haven’t had their own fantastical abilities. But this one is the most jarring to him. It implies the future’s already decided, which makes him want to know what’s going to happen in his life. But no matter how often he asks, Gabe won’t tell him anything. He just says it doesn’t work like that.

*

Gabe comes back from the kitchen with four glasses of juice. He passes one to Ray, takes a sip of one, and the other two are placed on the table. The sides are tacky from being spilled slightly, but the juice tastes good enough and Ray’s not really one for worrying about stickiness. Five minutes later two people let themselves in to the apartment. They each take their own glass. Ray guesses by the way Gabe’s not freaking out that they’re not robbers or hostage takers.

“So how long have you guys been friends?” Ray’s interested in seeing how they’ll answer. Gabe’s told him the more you know of the future the less you remember of the past. Some people can remember their childhood but only have a few week span, some know years in advance and can’t remember what happened an hour ago. Some can see all the possible options, multiple and woven together the the threads in a piece of string, and some just see the one most likely to occur.

The woman answers. “I don’t know. But I know we’re friends until we’re eighty, and then there’s a drama about cribbage scores and possible cheating, and before we can resolve that Ryland dies.”

“That’s-”

“Tragic, I know. But it won’t happen for awhile. Not eighty now, obviously.”

Gay or not, he can definitely say she’s not eighty. She’s also apparently someone that can see everything and remember nothing. He can’t help but wonder how that works, and if Gabe will allow him to ask her questions.

*

“Guess what the Cobra told me, Ryland!”

“There is no prophetic cobra.”

“Just because he doesn’t talk to you doesn’t mean I-”

“Fine. Fuck. Whatever. What did the fucking talking hallucination snake tell you?” Ryland says it like it’s an argument they’ve had many times, or at least will have many times in the future.

“I’m gonna get laid tonight.”

Ryland takes the claim as fact, and after a moment Ray realises that with this version of Special, all bragging and bluster is. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“Depends. If I go to Choppers I have great sex, but I forget to wear a condom. I can’t see further, but we all know condoms are our friends. If I stay in, I end up getting bored and calling my dealer who takes a hand job as payment. What sounds better?”

“Hmm. You think Nathaniel will accept hand job payment later in the week?”

“Can’t see it, but knowing him-” Gabe shrugs.

Victoria pauses in the middle of curling lipstick around her lips. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t see any baby showers in your future, and as your sole female friend at this point I’d totally have to attend that shit.”

“Choppers it is.”

It sounds like a motorcycle gang hangout, so Ray’s pretty surprised when they come up to an exclusive nightclub with a twenty dollar cover. There’s no line, Ray can only guess that people can see what time they should show up.

Ray isn’t the best dancer, but he holds his own. It’s a straight bar anyway, as far as he can tell, so there’s no need to impress anyone. At some point Victoria joins him. She’s much smoother, the kind of woman that’s made for dancing and drinking. She looks like this is her personal heaven, and Ray can’t quite see the clouds, but lets her move across him and is happy she is.

“This isn’t going to work,” is Ray’s only warning before her lips are on him. If she was using lipchap it might not be too bad, a wet smear of peppermint or cherry. Instead it’s solid red lipstick, and it hangs heavy on his lips even after she pulls away. He wipes the grimace off his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure she’s seen it. If not now then before, when she saw herself doing it. She has to know, it’s not like she can possibly see a chance of them falling in bed together.

*

“Can you at least tell me if I’m about to get married?” Really, it doesn’t seem like that much to ask. He’s been a good guest, he deserves that one piece of information. It’s not like it costs Gabe to share it.

“I’ve told you, doesn’t work like that.”

“Why? Cause I’m not a Special, so I’m not good enough?”

“No dude. I can’t see off planet. I don’t think anyone can. Did any of the other places you went to suddenly have you learn their abilities? I don’t _know_. But I’ll wish you a great honeymoon. Not a seen honeymoon, I wish I could see what you want. But I’ve just learned having faith in people tends to pay off. You think you’ll make a good enough husband, I’m sure he’ll think so too.”

And that’s probably as good as Ray’s going to get.

 

After

As his ship hurtles inside yet another continent sized spaceship, Ray realises that his dowry is for shit. It’s possible he’s learned things, but nothing that comes as a real revelation, even to him. Hold on to love no matter what strangers think. People can be broken easily, so watch where you’re putting pressure. Know what you like, and do your best to enjoy those things as often as you can. If it’s nothing new to him, how is it supposed to impress an Other?

He doesn’t even know what his intended Other will be like. He hopes that Jepha is right, that they’ll have something in common. But he can’t be sure of that. He can’t even be sure they’ll be physically compatible. At least he know the Specials would be human, if altered. No one on Earth has ever met an Other, though speculation runs as rampant as it does for Specials. And none of the Specials seem to have either, though he can’t be sure of any of them, except Gerard of course.

Like always, Ray can see his surroundings before he can get out of the ship. This is the first time he’s landed inside a building. It doesn’t look anything like the building on Earth, but it’s not a plain. The only thing around when he manages to get out of the ship is a small table with a cup of clear liquid on it. It looks like water and it smells like water, so Ray only hesitates a moment before drinking it. If his presence is so not what the Other wanted that the water is poisoned, at least he had an interesting last two months of life.

It tastes like water too. As he waits to see if something kicks in he looks around the room. His previous opinion was slightly off, in the other corner of the room there is a door. An open door. With nothing else to do, Ray walks towards it, then through it.

There’s a being sitting in a chair on one side of a desk. More specifically, _he’s_ in a chair on one side of a desk. Ray crosses his arms, then asks, “Is this the thing where your true self is so hideous you project yourself as human?”

“No. This is the thing where I’m you, and I’m really sorry about that.”

“I don’t understand.” Not that he should, probably. The thing pretending to be him _is_ an Other, his reasons don’t have to make sense to a human.

The Other runs his fingers over his hair as he winces. Ray recognises the action, he’s done it a thousand times. “Matt didn’t tell me this would be this hard. Asswipe.” He sighs. “You’re a clone.”

“What?”

“Your whole planet is. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. It’s true though.”

“Why would I be a clone?” He’s having trouble immediately calling bullshit on the Other. They’re known as all seeing, the wisest beings the galaxy has to offer. Calling bullshit doesn’t really seem possible.

“It’s a long and awkward as fuck story. I don’t suppose you’d want to pass over it? No, don’t bother to answer that. You’re me, and I know I would want answers. Shit. Okay. Well first up, there aren’t eight kinds of Specials. There are nine. We’re the ninth, obviously.”

“And what, you’re shapeshifters?”

“No, I’m Ray Toro. The original, no bullshitting. We’re immortal. And, well, we were kind of assholes, once upon a time. When all this factioning started, and we realised we couldn’t die we couldn’t see peace lasting forever. And so we started the war so we could win it.”

Ray snorts. “That seems pretty fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, well. We didn’t want the actual war part of the war, we just wanted the winning part. The only thing worse than living forever in a warzone was living forever with missing limbs. So we created you, to fight for us. After a ridiculously long time we realised no one going to win, and we made the eight settlements for us to all live peacefully. And you got Earth. After all, you must separate the bullets from the gun bearer.”

“All us clones are getting along fine on Earth. So why are you bothering to tell me any of this?” He doesn't necessarily believe what the Other is telling him, but he might as well see how well the story is constructed.

“Because you can be immortal too. You are us. You have the capability. We genetically altered it so you couldn’t, but you can again. We just need to make sure you didn’t harbour bias against the Specials. So many on Earth want to meet them, and freak out when they do. Our specialty, it lends itself to distrust and hate rather well. Unfortunately.”

“So you want me to stay here.”

“Do you want to stay?"

“What happens if I say no?”

“You go back to Earth, monitored forever. You tell pre-approved lies about the Specials, and if they don’t they’ll lock you up. And your brain is totally wiped of this conversation.”

Ray’s not ready to decide. How can he be? So he bides time and asks a stall question. “This was how long ago?”

“Centuries.”

“Then how are we the same age?” If he’s a clone from centuries ago, he should be dead several times over.

“We prepared second and third wave attacks. Fortieth. Hundredth. Other Ray Toros have been asked, they have said no. One day one of us will say yes.” Ray watches himself sigh and feels sorry for himself. It's an awkward feeling.

“If I say yes will I get to travel again?”

“Yes. You have the rest of your life to travel.”

“Then yes.”

“That easy?”

“There are some people I want to meet again." This started because he wanted to meet an Other, but he's learned the Specials are just that; special. Ray might not need knowledge as a dowry, but it's still fact.


End file.
